


PBB Monthly Prompts

by Dork5ever612



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mob, Giants, Italian Mafia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dork5ever612/pseuds/Dork5ever612
Summary: A monthly prompt thing for the Project Blue Book Discord. Each chapter will be a different prompt.





	1. Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mob AU - Coraggio = Harding

Michael never missed. That was simply a fact.  
  
He'd been a soldier for the Coraggios since he could hold a gun, and he'd learned the hard way that missing a shot cost far more than just a bullet. For one, it cost him the respect of his peers, which was already a tough thing to get as the youngest in their family and resident “Black Sheep.” After all, he wasn't _truly_ of Italian descent, as family members were supposed to be— just adopted.  
  
In the end, he was only there because the Don found him in the streets and decided to take him in when his own family didn't want him. He taught him how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill. Over the years he earned the family's trust and respect, climbing through the ranks: from associate, to soldado, and finally to caporegime.  
  
Usually, his most recent ranks were reserved for blood relatives of the family, but he'd worked hard to earn those rights despite his meager Michigan uprising. The Boss, James Coraggio, took him away from his abusive family at just ten, and he always treated him like a son. Over the years he became somewhat of a contract killer for his adoptive father, and he worked damn hard for the title of Capo. He wasn't going to throw all that away over a sloppy aim.  
  
So, he didn't miss.  
  
And for many years he had never failed his father's orders. Countless lives had been ended by the pull of his trigger, and countless times he'd had to scrub the blood of an innocent from his hands: sometimes people just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. This assignment was no different. An astrophysics professor that had asked a few too many questions when one of his colleagues ended up in some hot water for evading the payments on his heroin, and who _possibly_ stole something very valuable, which could end up causing their family some unnecessary trouble. His name was Allen Hynek.  
  
Michael's job was simply to shut the guy up, by any means necessary— which usually meant a bullet to the head. It was supposed to be _easy_.  
  
Michael sat in the back, watching the professor flit about the room animatedly as he gushed about the stars, and how each one had a solar system and planets just like ours. He prattled on about how the atmosphere affected our view of the sky, and how far the stars actually were, and anything else he could think of until the bell rang.  
  
He lowered his head as the class filed out, practically _fleeing_ from the professor's enthused speech and silly antics, but Michael simply watched as he gathered his things and began clearing the blackboard. As soon as the last student was gone, the mafioso shut the door, making sure he heard the final _click_ that confirmed it was locked.  
  
“Doctor!” He called kindly as he descended the steps, false smile plastered on his lips.  
  
“Yes, did you have a question?” The other man responded, not taking his attention off the board.  
  
“A few, actually. What do you know about Professor Charles Davis?”  
  
The doctor froze, turning to face Michael.  
  
“I, uh, didn't know him that well— what is this about? Who are you?”  
  
“That's not important. What do you know about his death?”  
  
“He… He was shot. In the head. The police ruled it a suicide.”  
  
“But that's not what you think, right?”  
  
Hynek backed away as the other man approached, leaning up against the chalk holder uncomfortably.  
  
“I'm sorry, what— what's going on here?”  
  
The older man stumbled and fell over as Michael reached into his jacket, chalk flying to the ground as he pointed his gun at the teacher's head. He instinctively curled into a ball, pleading for his life.  
  
Michael had seen this display countless times before, and never once did he hesitate. So why _now_ was he unable to pull the trigger?  
  
He had to look away as Hynek peered up at him with glassy blue eyes. They looked almost green in the afternoon sun, shining through the window. His hands were _shaking_. _Why couldn't he shoot?_  
  
A silenced gunshot, a weapon clattering to the ground, and a strained curse rang through the empty room.  
  
He missed.  
  
“Wha… I don't… You didn't kill me?”  
  
“I don't know what's wrong with me, I—” He glared at the doctor, confusion settling into aggression. “What did you do?!”  
  
“I didn't do anything! What are you getting mad at me for?!” The professor snapped at him, flinching when the mobster swiftly turned, holding his head.  
  
“I'm dead… I am so, so dead.” Michael groaned, falling exasperatedly into one of the desk chairs. “God, why am I _like_ this?”  
  
Hynek cautiously approached, settling onto the top of the desk beside him.  
  
“You were here to kill me, right?”  
  
“Duh.”  
  
“And I'd assume failing would have some pretty dire consequences, correct?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“May I ask why you _didn't_?”  
  
“Does it look like I know?”  
  
“Well I'd assume you'd at least have some clue, and I'm not exactly in any position to judge you for what you say.”  
  
Michael heaved a heavy sigh, looking up at the professor. He knew _exactly_ why he couldn't shoot the man: soft brown hair with a hint of grey at the temples, eyes as deep and blue as the ocean hidden behind thick lenses, and a salt and pepper beard dotting his chin. He was the dictionary definition of angelic in Michael's eyes.  
  
“You're not my therapist, ok? You're my _target_. My job is to kill you…” He looked out the window, voice trailing off as he thought. “ _Or_ … I suppose I could find another way to keep you quiet…”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“If… I find a way to buy your silence, which also benefits the Boss. What's your price? To stop investigating Davis’ death.”  
  
“I don't know… how about… we get coffee from time to time?” Allen turned to him, no shortage of mischief— and perhaps a bit of hope— glimmering in his eyes. Michael blinked up at him dumbly.  
  
“I don't see a problem with that. How about next Sunday at 11— that little café on 5th.” He smiled, standing and extending a hand. “We got a deal?”  
  
“It's a date!” The doctor met his hand, shocked when the Mafioso leaned to press a kiss to it.  
  
“Name's Michael. It's a pleasure doing business with you, Doc.”  
  
“Y— You too.” The professor stammered, watching in a stunned silence as the mobster pocketed his pistol and strutted back out the room.  
  
Unknown to the other, both men took a second to breathe a sigh, identical thoughts running through their heads. _“What did I just get myself into?”_


	2. No Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairytale AU - Giants

People came up with all kinds of crazy stories during the war: Foo Fighters, gremlins, people and places that didn't exist, yet everyone claims they saw at some point. Michael had heard them all, and he didn't believe a single one. There were no such things as aliens or magic. They were just fairy tales.  
  
So, when a young Private named Thomas Wakefield came back from a mission claiming he saw a giant, Michael rolled his eyes and went back to work. The more he listened, though, the more he was convinced the kid had seen something. Not a giant, mind you, just… something he _thought_ was a giant. Something that scared him shitless, clearly.  
  
He was shaking in his boots, hands quivering as he tried to convince his superiors it had happened— or anyone that would listen. His eyes were wide and panicked as he described a hulking beast at least 100 feet tall, with arms the size of lighthouses and legs even larger than a skyscraper. He was certainly descriptive.  
  
“Alright, kid, listen. You probably just saw a weirdly shaped mountain or something. If it makes you feel any better I'll fly you out there and show you there's nothing to be afraid of.”  
  
“No, there is _no way_ I'm going back out there! That— that thing tried to eat me!!”  
  
“Then I'll go alone, whatever. I'll come back and tell you what it was, alright?”  
  
“I know what I saw! You can't—”  
  
“I can and I will. Either I fly out alone, or you come with me. Either way I'm gonna prove you have nothing to worry about besides the Germans.” Michael sighed, putting a gentle hand on the Private's shoulder. ”Now, why don't you tell me exactly where you were flying?”  
  
✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈  
  
“How's it going out there, _Hollywood_?”  
  
“No giants yet, _Matches_ , but I’ll keep you posted.” Michael grinned, flying over what had to be the hundredth berry field that day. The plants were popping out of the ground in odd areas, though, with far too much space between the crops. “Only thing out of the ordinary is this field. _Jesus_ , did the guy ever learn to farm? Shit's all over the place.”  
  
The lieutenant on the other end of the headset laughed, most likely shaking his head. “Maybe the _giants_ got him before he could finish.”  
  
“Yeah, well, that giant's got another thing comin’ if he thinks he can get the best of me. No man nor giant can defeat Capt. Michael J. Qu— Whoa!” He shouted as he almost collided with a sudden steep incline, jerking the control stick up sharply and narrowly avoiding a crash, only to ram into a sudden outcropping and fall straight down.  
  
He could barely hear Sgt. Hancock's concerned shouts over the ringing in his ears, his head throbbing. The plane was completely upside-down, and he took note of the searing pain in his left arm. Probably broken. He was covered in other scrapes and bruises as well, but they paled in comparison to his more severe injuries, like the large gash on his leg and possible concussion. The throbbing in his head seemed to be spreading, the sensation taking over his whole body, shaking the plane…  
  
Wait. Headaches couldn't do that.  
  
Michael tried to maneuver himself so he could see what was causing the odd sensation, a sharp pain in his side limiting his movement. Through the shattered windshield he saw something large and dark flitting in and out of his vision in time with the pulsing earthquakes. They almost looked like…  
  
“Oh, shit…”  
  
“Hey, whose toy is this? Hello?” The giant shouted, deafeningly loud, but thankfully far enough away to avoid damaging the captain's ears. “Come on, this is the second time today… Hello?”  
  
Everything shifted as the plane was picked up and examined, the giant testing out the rudder and flaps, seemingly impressed when they moved. Shadows filled the cockpit as the aircraft whipped around, two large, ocean blue eyes flooding Michael's vision.  
  
“Oh.” The giant muttered awkwardly, blinking in surprise as the pilot stared at it— him— in… fear? Awe? Probably both. At least the giant wasn't speaking so _loud_ anymore, though his voice still caused the plane to quiver. Like someone was playing a radio too loud. “This is, uh… not what I was expecting. Are you alright?”  
  
Michael's head was spinning, trying to come up with a response but coming up blank. The reality of the situation hadn't quite sunk in yet. Unfortunately, his concussion certainly _was_ , as the world kept fading in and out of focus.  
  
“Here, I— I should get you inside. I'll get the first aid kit and patch you up, ok?” The giant smiled reassuringly, cradling the plane against his chest as he stood and walked back into his home. The rooms passed by in a blur, most of them just barely meeting Michael’s eyes before disappearing completely. The whole situation made him feel sick to his stomach, and he had to shut his eyes to stop the spinning in his head. Before long, the aircraft was gently set on a desk in a giant study, the giant running into another room to grab the med kit.  
  
Michael was frozen in place by an odd mixture of fear and fascination. Part of him urged him to make an attempt at escape, another told him to stay in the plane where it was safer, the third… well, the third just wanted to see how things would turn out. His indecision locked him in place long enough for the giant to return, pulling his chair up to his desk and pulling a screwdriver from one of the drawers, using it to pry open the cockpit.  
  
“I'm sorry, I don't know if you can understand me, but I really need to get you out of there so I can treat your injuries. I promise I don't mean any harm…” The lock clicked open, Michael sitting in stunned silence as the giant tried to undo the clasps keeping him in place with the tip of the screwdriver, the captain automatically moving to help disconnect the radio wires.  
  
Michael couldn't bring himself to move as the giant gingerly pulled him out of his seat, hissing in pain as the large fingers brushed against a wound, the giant whispering soft apologies as he worked on removing the blood-covered flight suit. He was surprisingly gentle as he pulled the fabric away, checking over each of the wounds and treating them accordingly, the captain lying on his back on the cold wooden table.  
  
The giant tilted his head to look through his mounted magnifying glass as he cleaned and stitched up the larger cuts, pulling shards of shrapnel and broken glass from some. Michael bit his lip to stifle his pained groans, eyes squeezed shut. The giant winced and apologized every time the pilot flinched or cursed, expression twisted in concern.  
  
Michael couldn't help but stare at the larger man whenever the pain began to dull. He was far from the 'hulking beast’ the Private described: he was closer to 50 feet than 100, his clear, focused blue eyes hiding behind thick lenses. He looked nothing like the horrible monsters described in fairy tales, either; instead of long, unkempt hair, his hair was dark brown and slightly greying at the temples, short and well groomed. Rather than appearing aggressive and brutish, the giant was gentle and… well, a bit dorky, if he was honest. He had a short, stubbly beard that mirrored his well kept hair, and rather than wearing rags and living in a rickety hut he wore a proper suit and waistcoat, his study seemingly high quality, if a bit worn from use. He was just like a normal person, only… bigger.  
  
And, to be honest, Michael found him captivating. There was just something about his soft smile and beautiful blue eyes that made him weak.  
  
✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈✈  
  
Michael wasn't quite sure when he'd lost consciousness. One second he was lying on his back, staring up at the giant as he treated his wounds, and the next he was waking up with a throbbing headache, wrapped in cloth and lying in a confined space not dissimilar to a hammock. He tried pushing himself into a sitting position, hissing when it caused him pain, and rubbing his forehead dazedly.  
  
It was then that he noticed the thick bandages covering most of his body, and the sling cradling his arm. The giant did a pretty good job, considering the difference in size.  
  
He hadn't noticed that his current location was _moving_ until it stopped, everything going eerily still for a moment. Michael froze as well, waiting for the silence to break. When it didn't, he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, raising his voice and hoping the giant would hear him.  
  
“Um. H— hello?”  
  
“Oh! You're awake!” The world jolted into motion again as the giant spoke, walking a short distance and running a faucet, seemingly washing his hands as he addressed the human curled up in his pocket. “You passed out about an hour ago, and I didn't want to leave you in the study, so… uh, I hope you don't mind that I put you in there. I had to make dinner, so I needed my hands, and I figured the counter would be too uncomfortable… It's almost ready, by the way. Beef barley soup with fresh vegetables from my garden.”  
  
A cold, lavender-scented hand gently curled around the captain, careful to avoid any injuries as it pulled him into a comparatively small kitchen, lit by gas-fueled lamps. In fact, everything in the house seemed relatively old-fashioned, considering what little of it he saw earlier. It was like the giant was still living in the 18th century.  
  
The giant swiftly walked into the dining room, setting the pilot down and running to grab the pot, carefully setting it in the center of the table and taking a seat across from Michael.  
  
“I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I kind of assumed you wouldn't understand me, and I had more important things to deal with at the time.” He chuckled awkwardly, spooning the hot liquid into his bowl as he spoke. He seemed unusually nervous around Michael. “Um, my name is Allen Hynek. You don't need to tell me yours, but if you ever need help— well, you know what to call me.”  
  
Michael nodded, watching as the giant— no— as _Allen_ cut the meat and vegetables into smaller pieces and spooned them into a tiny porcelain teacup for the doll-sized pilot.  
  
“Thanks, Allen. For everything… I really appreciate all of this.” Michael grinned, limping towards the soup that was nudged towards him, slowly lowering himself into a sitting position. “I'm Michael Quinn. A captain for the US Air Force, which means more people will be coming to look for me; and they probably won't be too thrilled to see a _giant_ with me, so… be careful, ok?”  
  
Allen nodded, smiling as he watched the pilot take a bite of his soup.  
  
“I've been told I'm not the best cook, but I think I've been getting better. Of course, I _could_ just be getting desensitized to my own terrible cooking, but…”  
  
“No, it's great! You should see what the Air Force gives us, it makes this seem practically gourmet. But, uh… I'm— I'm sure it'd be good by civilian standards too!”  
  
Allen snorted, shaking his head and holding back a laugh. His eyes lit up, as he smiled at the captain, setting his face on fire. No. Oh no.  
  
Michael cleared his throat awkwardly, turning his attention back to his soup in an effort to hide his blush. God, of all the people he could fall in love with, it had to be a _literal giant_?  
  
“Um, also, I'm sorry if I scared you at all. I just had to make sure you were ok, and I couldn't wait for you to respond without risking the chance of you bleeding out, and…”  
  
“It's ok. I was too out of it to really care. I was mostly just glad you weren't trying to ‘grind my bones to make your bread.’”  
  
“Ok, that sounds absolutely disgusting. How would you even _make_ bread out of bones?” He cringed, seemingly losing his appetite at the thought as he pushed his bowl aside.  
  
“No idea, and frankly I'm not too sure I wanna find out.”  
  
“So… I'm guessing that's one of your myths about us? Giants, I mean.” Allen asked, leaning so his chin rested on his arms, just above Michael's eyeline.  
  
“Er— yeah. _Jack and the Beanstalk_.”  
  
“Are we _always_ the bad guys in your stories…?”  
  
“Usually… but there are some good ones! Uh, there's Atlas, who held up the sky… although I'm pretty sure that was a punishment for challenging Zeus… uh, there's Paul Bunyan! He was a giant lumberjack I think. I don't really know what he did but he's friendly and has statues all over America. They're _huge_ tourist spots. Aaand there's the _Jolly Green Giant_ , which is the mascot for a food brand, and I'm pretty sure the _Brawny_ mascot is giant as well.”  
  
“So… we're either villains, or we're accessories. That's _great_.” The giant grumbled, slumping even more onto the table, until his face was mostly hidden by his arms.  
  
“Well, to be fair, you are kinda… well, _terrifying_ , at first glance. I mean, you're like 50 feet tall. I'm not saying it's _right_ , but…” The pilot sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, do you have any myths about us?”  
  
“Yeah. We call you _Borrowers_. Tiny people that live in the walls and take small items and food…”  
  
“So our only representation is as thieves?”  
  
“No, they just take what they need to survive, and only things we won't miss. It's not like they're taking things just to take them, they use them to navigate the house. It's survival, not crime.”  
  
“Huh. That's kinda cool, I guess.”  
  
“So… how are you handling all of this? I kind of figured it might be a bit… overwhelming, for you.”  
  
“I dunno. It's just… it's all a bit weird to me. I mean, I didn't even think you _existed_ before today, and now I'm sitting on your table having a conversation about your human mythology.” Michael shrugged, almost laughing at the absurdity.  
  
Allen hummed understandingly, grinning and nodding sleepily.  
  
“Same here. So, would you be willing to stay here? Just until you're well enough to leave?”  
  
He nodded, smiling and stifling a yawn.  
  
“And I assume you're ready for bed, then?”  
  
“Yeah, I just— I need to get back to my plane first. I gotta radio in and let guys at the base know I'm alright. The last thing I want is for the Air Force to show up and try to kill the guy that saved my life.”  
  
“Thanks. I'm glad I'm more than just a monster to you…” Allen smiled, standing and offering his hand to the pilot. “Now let's go so I can finally get some sleep. Today's been exhausting.”


End file.
